


Kairos

by Lacertae



Series: Equilibrium [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Omnic Racism, Team Talon (Overwatch), debriefing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22449802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: After escaping from the Helix prison, Akande has some time to get debriefed on the returned Overwatch and its new members.*Prequel to 'For want of Balance', part of the Equilibrium series. Can be read as a stand-alone story.*
Relationships: Doomfist: The Successor | Akande Ogundimu & Sombra | Olivia Colomar
Series: Equilibrium [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/808467
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Kairos

**Author's Note:**

> Kairos (greek): a passing instant when an opening appears which must be driven through with force if success is to be achieved.
> 
> the doomyatta saga should be 12 fanfics long, but there are... interludes, and this is one of them. they're meant to expand the original story, give some more details to shape the plot and whatnot, and i used this opportunity to level a few things that are going on in Talon, and write some Akande before he falls for Zenyatta. :)

**Kairos**

The streets outside the motel were buzzing with activity.

Much like other cities just as big, Numbani seemed to never sleep. Yet, unlike elsewhere, there was an undercurrent of energy that felt… peculiar. Unique.

Anywhere one looked, the harmonious curves of the city’s landscape combined sleek, modern designs with something older, turning the city into a melange, timeless and growing; the same was for its citizens –omnics and humans living side by side, uncaring that in the rest of the world inequality forced one part of the population to lay low, sometimes by force.

Not here. Not in Numbani.

The city was born from cooperation, and goodwill, and hope for the future –omnics were allowed to thrive, here, free from restraints, and the collaboration between omnics and humans had allowed Numbani to become one of the most technologically advanced cities on Earth, envied and despised equally, a show of what humanity could achieve, if only it was allowed to shine through.

Akande Ogundimu snorted at the thought, lips curling upwards in mock-distaste.

Watching from the window of the small, bare motel room he had picked as hideout, eyes idly following the people walking outside in the streets, Akande couldn’t help but feel dry amusement at the fallacy of such thoughts.

Numbani was hailed as a utopia, the peak of technology and innovation, praised for the cooperation of humans and omnics, treating the city and its inhabitants as the pinnacle of modernity, of tolerance, inspiring many, one way or another…

And it was all fake.

As useless as a blunt, ornamental knife, one that could harm no one with its blade, yet looked deceivingly pretty to the eye, hiding its uselessness behind a façade of beauty.

Numbani was just that… a dull, carved knife, and Akande could see the chipped, tacky golden coating peel off, revealing the faded, rusty and cheap metal underneath. One of millions living in the city, hiding away like the escapee he was, a single ant among many… yet one who had no delusions, no pink-tinged glasses.

Oh, the beauty was there… the technology, the drive to advance… but so was the rotten, ugly core, exposed by Akande’s own actions yet brushed off so easily nonetheless.

Revealing so easily that just like every other place, Numbani was no utopia, no secret garden of delights, no perfection.

With calm, measured steps, Akande moved away from the window, sitting down on the thin mattress of the bed. It creaked under his weight, a thin layer of dust glittering in the sun, but he did not care. In the past he’d lived in worse conditions than this, where even such a cheap, bare room would have seemed like a luxury, and he’d never forgotten those modest days, even while handling checks with multiple zeros.

As it was, a room such as this was all he could manage. For now.

He had no phone on him, no credentials, no clothes other than his pants, jacket hastily ripped off his body as he ran from the guards of the prison, and his only possession the gauntlet he’d stolen back from the museum, now placed in the room’s tiny closet, out of sight. Hunted down by media after destroying the airport, Akande was meant to keep his head down, hide away, and wait.

Wait to be contacted by his informant, or by another one of Talon’s spies in the city, to reconvene and give him a way out of Numbani, and of course to brief him.

Even in prison, Akande had not allowed himself to fall behind. He’d worked to keep as informed as he could with what little freedom he’d been allowed to have, and outside, there had been those who had sought to help him bridge the gaps. Now that he was free once more, causing enough mayhem to cover up his presence, even forcing the airport to close down, all he had to do was wait, and perhaps enjoy this newfound freedom.

He had plans –not just for the city, but for the world, plans matured over years of imprisonment, and perhaps remind some of his old associates that he did not tolerate betrayal.

He’d known there were moles, there –people more interested in their own gain than in something bigger, but had watched in disappointment the Talon leaders he’d initially respected fall prey of such behaviour as well, rotten and rolling in their own riches, content with that and with the little chaos they could bring.

There was no satisfaction to be had like that, not for him, but it was easy to see why Talon was starting to slow down.

Just like a martial arts tournament, where only if the opposition was strong one could truly find their match, and their own worth, so was Talon’s reach –only ever strong if the enemy was on the same level… and with the fall of Overwatch, Talon had grown complacent.

There was no challenge, no aim, nothing to keep them from settling down.

Akande would not let this happen –even if he had to take over Talon on his own.

Besides, he itched for a fight –to feel the adrenaline making his heart beat and his blood boil, work towards an actual goal once again. Prison had been rough, forcing him to bend so he would not break.

For a fleeting moment, Akande’s eyes returned to the window, catching a glimpse of blue sky past the curved domes of the skyscrapers outside, and felt a wave of weariness.

His prosthetic arm ached, the junctures where metal met the skin of his shoulder thrumming with a dull, familiar pain. The men at the prison had cared little for his health –their aid had been minimal, all of the guards far more worried about him and his potential strength to even care about basic health-care, and maintenance had been… severely lacking. Even then, he had some perks –some men could be easily corrupted– but it was simply because of his will of steel that he had kept himself in good health until Talon had provided him a way out.

The Reaper had been beneficial, of course, even as Akande had used the diversion to punch his way out himself, but they’d separated early on, allowing Akande time to hide while Reaper and his goons kept the media’s attention away.

His stamina and energy levels had allowed him to endure long enough for him to secure himself a safe haven, for how small that could be, but now, alone and forced to wait, Akande could at least allow himself a grimace at the pain, though he refused to detach the arm yet, not until he was out of the city.

Greater than that, though, was the need for him to move, dispel the excess of energy in some way.

Prison had severely undermined his training regimen, obviously, but what little freedom other prisoners had been allowed to have did not apply to him, and the times he’d felt fresh air on his face were few and far in-between since his imprisonment.

Even just this… sitting on a bed, guiding his breathing into a slow, even pattern, studying the way his body responded to him after a day and a night spent chased by the police and the special OR-15, was a luxury for him.

Standing up, Akande grabbed the remote and flicked through the channels on the small holo-vision in front of the bed, finally setting it on Atlas News International. The newscaster’s voice was loud, recounting the efforts of the Numbani police force as they sought out the criminal Doomfist to bring him back under control. There was a short video of the airport, where the bodies of the OR-15 had yet to be removed from the broken remains of the wall, and Akande snorted again. So much for a respectful approach towards the omnic situation –even robots with less identity than that should have been treated with more courtesy.

Turning around, Akande decided to take a shower. If he could not work on his arm, the next best thing would be cleanse himself from the grime and sweat instead, even if he had to wear the same clothes again afterwards.

Small as it was, the shower stall had all he needed –hot water, soap and hydro-repellent oil for his prosthetic, which was more than the prison ever had.

Water coming down on him in a jet, Akande finally allowed his mind to go blank as he relaxed, exhaling slowly under the hot water, rejuvenated by this small moment of peace, muscles unclenching and ache soothed the longer he remained there, scrubbing his body until he felt his skin raw but clean –and even then he indulged a little longer, for the simple pleasure of it.

When he came back into the small bedroom, a young woman was sprawled on one of the chairs, legs propped up the armrest, reading a holographic magazine, fingers deftly moving through pages of gossip as they flickered purple in the air.

She was dressed in what appeared to be an office suit, if somewhat fashionable, and her hair was dyed purple over darker roots, but the gloves that reached past the sleeves of her shirt, the same shade as her hair, and the glowing pink nails she was using to browse page after page of her magazine, betrayed that she was more than a forgettable secretary or assistant, clashing wildly with that part of her attire.

He had expected contact, but had not thought she would be the first one to find him –not to mention brazen enough to appear in his bedroom in person.

“Sombra,” he greeted.

Akande felt much better now, freshly showered and finally clean, but he was still in a state of partial undress, with a towel wrapped around his midsection and one slung over one shoulder, and had not anticipated such prompt contact. Displeased as he was by her sudden presence in his room, he did not let it show on his face past a slight crease of his eyebrows.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Sombra looked up from the magazine, eyes making a show of taking him in. “I’m not your personal assistant, bu~t I brought you a change of clothes, so you should be thankful!” Her smirk grew a little as she pointed towards the bed with a flippant gesture. “Better get to it, unless you don’t mind staying like this, hmm?”

Akande exhaled slowly, but under the vague annoyance, he couldn’t help but be amused by her tactless carelessness.

It was part of her appeal, and why he’d enjoyed working with her, in the past.

On the bed, as promised, was a nondescriptive black bag –not an extravagant suitcase, either, just a sports bag, and inside Akande found, much to his pleasure, a change of clothes that included underwear, and a small compact box for prosthetic limb maintenance.

“Thank you,” he said, slinging the bag over his shoulder and returning to the bathroom, ignoring Sombra’s over the top displeased sounds with a snort. The clothes were of good quality, but not something a man such as Akande had grown used to wearing over the course of the past few years. Rather than a suit, it was something refined but more normal, and he understood the precautions as he methodically dressed himself, running his fingers down his front to brush away the creases in the fabric.

It was just one more thing to distinguish Akande from the hunted man Numbani’s police force was seeking, and though his appearance was not common, with big muscles and a height that had him towering over others, he could easily hunch down a bit and act a little less proudly, if only as a way to leave the city unnoticed.

In a way, it could be even disappointing, watching the police pass by him without recognizing him, simply due to a change of clothes.

“What are the news, Sombra?”

She had not moved from the chair, but she slid one hand in the air and the magazine she was reading glitched out, revealing a net of glowing dots hovering inches from her fingers.

“So boring,” she muttered to herself, loud enough that he could hear. “One would think you’d want to have some fun. Get more fresh air, maybe walk around… pick a fight? Not be such a good boy and start working again right away.”

Akande snorted, lips curling upwards as he sat down on the bed, watching her with sharp eyes. “I would not say no to something a little less… inconspicuous,” he agreed, smirk growing at her surprise, “unfortunately, time is of essence here.”

“Alright, alright.” She cracked her knuckles. “First things first –use this.”

The small chip she threw his way was quickly caught in mid-air, and Akande, knowing what it was, clasped it on his earlobe, where an earring would go. It wasn’t activated yet, but he knew that once it was, it would keep him safe from cameras and recordings, masking his identity to be unrecognizable.

“I assume you wore one as well, on your way here,” he said, more as a small quip than truly believing Sombra would be that sloppy, and he smirked at her affronted glare.

“Of course. What, you think this is my fashion preference? God, _no_.”

With a snap of her fingers, a flicker went through her, and the purple gloves and glowing nails were replaced with bare hands, while her purple hair softened into non-descriptive brown curls, giving her an entirely different air.

“Why, it suits you,” he said, enjoying even more the way she rolled her eyes at him. “Perfectly _normal_.”

“Normalcy is _overrated_! Much better to deviate from the norm and have fun~” she chided him, but she was still relaxed in the armchair, as amused with the pointless banter as he was. “So… I know you were kept informed, but there’s some more things you haven’t been told.” Sombra grinned, looking almost feral for a moment. “Overwatch returned, as expected. Me n’ a few others have been ordered to keep an eye on all the previous members and make sure we know where they are. Your dear friend Winston sent out a recall message,” she ignored the way Akande twitched at the name, the reminder of their fight an echo of pain in his body, “and a few have already answered his plea.”

“I do not see how they expect to bring it back to full glory with how low it fell,” Akande rubbed his chin as Sombra opened a few photos for him. He recognised some of the agents –there was agent Oxton, code name Tracer, and of course Winston, teeth bared towards the camera, and agent McCree in a far corner, with a red dot on the top of his photo– but others were unknown to him, like the photo of a plump Chinese woman with a fur coat wrapped around her neck. “Overwatch fell for a reason, even if there’s still some who look back at it with pride.”

“Well… that is true,” Sombra shrugged. “But those were the orders. They’re not afraid of Overwatch per se –they just think it’s better to nip them before they grow into something decent again. I know some people were… sent… to dissuade them.”

Akande’s eyes narrowed. “Who was it?”

“They sent the Reaper to Winston,” Sombra shrugged. “Didn’t do much. Took down part of the Overwatch’s base AI, but there were backups around, and Winston still sent the recall message.”

“Hmmm…”

Akande watched Sombra bring forth three rows of images. They were recent, taken in the last few months.

“Who’s that?” he pointed at the plump woman.

“Mei-Ling Zhou.” Sombra’s finger brushed against the image of the smiling woman. “Bad luck, this one. Her entire team died at an Antarctic Base and she was the only one left alive. She’s one of those who agreed to Winston’s recall.”

“Doesn’t seem like a fighter.”

“She isn’t. She’s a scientist.”

Despite Akande’s initial intention to dismiss this new Overwatch agent –she did not look dangerous, not at all– he was perfectly aware that sometimes scientists could be just as dangerous as seasoned warriors.

After all, he’d watched Moira fight… and Winston himself was a scientist as well.

“What is her specialization?” he asked then.

Sombra seemed curious about his interest, but answered without adding any extra commentary. She showed him a photo of Mei-Ling’s artificial companion bot, and a small montage of a weapon of her creation which allowed her to use crystallized frost, genetically modified to spread over organic tissue and freeze whatever was hit.

Akande could see the dangers of such a weapon, compared to the kind of abilities he possessed even with the gauntlet of Doomfist, as slowing him down could potentially allow him to be captured once again, but as long as he kept his distance, she seemed unused to the weapon and its use.

The next photo he focused on was agent Oxton –he’d thought that by destroying her chronal accelerator she would have ceased to be a possible danger… but that seemed not to be the case. Winston, just like before, had interfered with his work.

Sombra tapped her photo. “She lives with her girlfriend, and has kept contact with Winston over the years. She was the first to officially answer his recall and join Overwatch once again, and was involved with the Mondatta assassination ploy, though unsuccessful to stop it.”

“What about her girlfriend?”

A photo of a red haired woman sitting at a café appeared next.

“She is not part of Overwatch.” Sombra shrugged. “Civilian, no prior experience that would be useful. She could be a good pawn to use against Tracer, but I would keep that as a last resort. They might expect us to target her.”

“That would keep their resources focused elsewhere, and allow us to do as we please,” Akande murmured. “I would expect the others to be less… subtle, since they’ve sent the Reaper against Winston.”

“Yeah, they’re stupid.” Sombra grinned, unbothered by his raised eyebrow. “They collected information only on the whereabouts of the old Overwatch agents. They didn’t think to get any about the people they care for. Good for me, though… best to keep some blackmail material private, no?”

“Then why inform _me_?”

“Oh, you know I like you, big guy!” Sombra stretched on the chair. “The others are stuck-up assholes full of themselves, but you let me live and have my fun. So you get… just a little more information. Not all of it, I’m not _loca_ , but… a little more. Just to… even the field.”

Akande snorted, shaking his head at her candid admission. “I will pretend you are simply doing your job,” he told her, not quite sternly, and she wriggled her fingers at him. “Next?”

There was little interest in the rest of the Overwatch members, perhaps with the exception of Winston himself, as Akande had seen first-hand the kind of personal damage a genetically enhanced gorilla could do to a man, even one who had his own mechanic augmentations on his side, and it was fortuitous that Winston was, first and foremost, a scientist who was not even human –Akande would let society’s rules do his job for him at keeping him away.

Sombra had tracked down their omnic member as well, Echo, with detailed information on her whereabouts, dating to the fall of Overwatch until today. Akande considered her situation for a moment, the military involvement prior to agent McCree freeing her catching his eye.

“Your… colleagues thought it would be worth pursuing,” Sombra told him, noticing where his focus was, a wry grin on her lips. “There have been sizeable sums exchanged with the officials involved. Repeatedly.”

Narrowing his eyes, he considered the information carefully.

He was perfectly aware that prior to his capture, Talon’s leadership had already started to weaken –and it was something he had personally cultivated through months of slow, steady work. He knew he’d lost time while in prison, but it would be a nice welcome back gift, to undermine the security his fellow leaders had acquired in his absence and remind them who had the upper hand.

“There might be something else that could be done there, rather than waste money,” he said instead, and Sombra’s expression turned to pure glee. “All done through clean channels, I’d hope.”

“Oh, of course, _entirely_ traceable.” Her grin was positively devious. “By me, that is.”

“Understandable. And of course, such traces could end up falling into the wrong hands, if someone as… knowledgeable as you… ended up finding them.”

Sombra clapped her hands together. “ _That’s_ what I like to hear!”

Akande smirked, and the next slide was another one he recognised.

“Now, that one’s interesting,” Sombra tapped her finger on Shimada Genji’s photo and a web with other photos expanded from him. On one side, a person Akande vaguely recognised as the current head of the Shimada clan, Shimada Hanzo, on the other an omnic unfamiliar to him, tied on his own to the symbol of the Shambali and to a photo of the deceased Tekhartha Mondatta. “By what I was able to find out, Genji wasn’t exactly the model agent during his Overwatch days –and while in Blackwatch, there might or might not have been certain… incidents… related to him and his anger management, or lack thereof.”

Akande nodded, though part of his attention remained on Mondatta’s faceplate. He had not been part of the decision to eliminate him, but he could easily understand why his fellows had decided he posed too much of a threat.

Mondatta had been more than a simple political figure –he was a leader, the head of what for most was simply a religious cult… yet, instead of a cover up for an underhanded ploy, the Shambali were the real deal, and his intentions for equality between omnics and humans were honest.

That was probably why his presence had caused a stir within Talon ranks, and why they had ordered his assassination.

Yet, he could not quite _agree_ with the ending result –as much as he couldn’t deny the wave of dissent and chaos that his death had caused, Akande found the methods unpleasant.

Perhaps the omnic couldn’t have been used by Talon like so many other politicians had been so far, but his fellows had failed to recognise the strategic importance of placing a puppet in his stead, to guide the Shambali down a road more in tune with Talon’s goals… instead, the Shambali had been left beheaded, retiring to the safety of their own monastery, leaving behind outrage and disagreements.

A waste that Akande could have prevented.

Unfortunately, the decision had not been up to him –and now it was too late for what ifs.

“The two Shimada brothers have been sighted together in Hanamura, at their old house,” Sombra continued. There was another photo, taken from afar, showing the compound alight with lights that did not appear natural at all, green and blue. Akande was not familiar with Shimada Hanzo’s peculiar spirit connection, but he had seen enough of Genji’s clips to recognise the otherworldly green of his dragon spirit summon, and come to his own conclusions about the situation. “We haven’t been able to get information yet, but there was a confrontation. I’ve been tracking down Hanzo’s whereabouts all along, and I know there’s much interest in establishing a… connection between him and Talon.”

Akande nodded.

Having such man at the disposal of Talon would be… beneficial, with his ties to the local yakuza and the power his name could bring… yet, Akande was no fool, and approaching Shimada Hanzo without consideration would be foolish.

Instead of focusing on him, he moved on.

“So what links the younger Shimada to the Shambali?” he asked, eyes moving from Mondatta’s faceplate to the nameless omnic that appeared to be the connection between Genji and the Shambali.

“That… is the fun part.” Sombra grinned at him, but there was something different to her expression, a line of tension that Akande recognised to be frustration. “The Shambali’s network is… difficult to parse through. Even for me.” He lifted both eyebrows in disbelief, and Sombra grunted, the grin dropping a bit. “Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re about to say –I didn’t have much time, y’know, so I’m sure it’ll crack soon if I double down. That said, their firewall and protections are weirdly stable, and finding out anything about the Shambali proved to be impossible. All I’ve managed to gather about this guy,” she tapped her finger on the omnic’s face, expanding it to a full body shot, “is that his name is Zenyatta. He was mentored personally by Tekhartha Mondatta, and they share the title between one another.”

A flicker of interest ignited inside Akande’s chest and he leaned forwards, taking in the deceivingly weak appearance of the omnic –a monk of the Shambali– called Tekhartha Zenyatta. The delicate waist with exposed circuitry, the scuffs on his faceplate, visible even from a photo, the uncovered wires and a circle of mechanical orbs around his neck.

There was something inherently graceful about him, in his apparent frailty, that appealed to Akande’s eyes.

“Apparently, between Overwatch being dismantled and today, agent Shimada went on a spiritual awakening path or some similar bullshit, under Zenyatta’s tutelage, and… well. When recall happened, not only did our friend Genji come back to join Overwatch, but he brought Zenyatta with him as well.”

Now – _that_ was surprising.

“I would think for a civilian and part of a pacifist group, Overwatch would not sound appealing at all,” he murmured, leaning on his knees and intertwining his fingers in front of his face. “Shimada must have been truly… convincing.”

The implications were clear –a weak link for the youngest Shimada could be interesting to exploit, especially if it was a romantic one. Where agent Oxton had kept her girlfriend away from Overwatch, Shimada had decided to initiate him into it instead.

And if it was not romantic, it was still worth knowing.

Sombra shrugged. “He allegedly joined as a medic, though looking at him, you wouldn’t think he’s any good at that, not when Overwatch managed to get Doctor Ziegler back, yet…”

A medic… well, for a monk, Akande could see why Overwatch could be good, if he needed to patch people up. Yet, it was still rather curious.

“And you say the younger Shimada’s attitude has… mellowed down?”

“Yeah. Kind of creepy, really, guy’s like, reformed? I saw some of the videos Moira brought over from the Overwatch database, and he was unhinged back then. Now he’s just… cheerful. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the Shambali are really a cult like some people say.”

“Yet you do know better…?” interested and amused by Sombra’s words, eyes still not moving from the frail, pleasant figure of the monk, Akande smirked.

“Of course. There’s something to their group that has nothing to do with a cult… and that’s the next point.”

Sombra snapped her fingers, and the screen flickered, causing all the photos to disappear, replaced by a loud video.

It was clearly taken from a phone, nothing professional, but it was a shot of a street from the balcony of a building, a little shaky but not unfocused, and Akande’s eyes recognized easily the figures fighting –it was a set of big Null Sector omnics, the size probably similar to the OR-15 units, with massive cannons in place of their arms. On the other side of the street, much to his surprise, were the young Shimada and his teacher, Tekhartha Zenyatta, protecting civilians behind a hastily made barricade of cars and the remains of a broken wall.

Over the sounds of shooting lasers, Sombra explained the scene. “This was taken a few weeks ago, during an attack in the streets of a city in India. Shimada and Zenyatta were sent as backup to the local police, but were caught in an ambush, and then–”

As Akande watched, one of the attacking omnics threw what looked like a small, pulsating ball of energy towards the two overwatch agents. He recognised it at once as a biotic grenade, and for a moment he wondered if he was about to watch the two agents getting dismantled. Instead, something far more surprising happened.

Genji backed away, pushing back towards the civilians behind them as Zenyatta stepped forwards, appearing calm and unbothered by the incoming deathly shot. Akande watched Zenyatta slowly lift his hands, clasping them in front of himself mid-step, and just as the grenade fell in front of him, pulsating and stuttering, about to explode…

Light bloomed from within Zenyatta’s body.

Something sprouted from his back –arms, they looked like translucent, transparent golden arms– spreading out around his frame like a halo, the golden glow surrounding him and expanding further, encompassing Genji and the scared civilians behind them in a single swoop.

The light made the back of Akande’s eyes ache, but it wasn’t blinding, nor was it painful to watch –and then the grenade exploded.

Akande watched, eyes wide, as the shrapnel flew through Zenyatta’s frame, leaving him and the ones he was protecting unharmed. The force of the explosion sent pieces of the pavement, walls and the car flying everywhere, the metal of the car melting and bending under its power, yet Zenyatta remained standing, surrounded by the golden light.

It was…

The image seared its way into Akande’s eyes.

The battered metal of the omnic looked alight with liquid gold, and he found himself breathless for a moment, aware that what he was looking at was not man-made, nor was it caused by any known technology.

Then the light faded, the arms flickering out of sight, and in the wake of that sudden flash, Akande blinked, surprised at how dark the video seemed now.

“The explosion should have harmed them.” He watched the video end with Zenyatta facing the other omnics, the orbs around his neck forming a bigger orbit around his frame, almost as if in preparation for a fight. His stance was not one of meek wait, but that of a fighter –one Akande recognised. “Yet, none of them were hit. No bruises, no damage, no blood. _None_ of them died.”

“Exactly.” Sombra tapped her nails on her arm. “This was the only recording we have of that ability, and even that was caught only moments before the video was deleted. What we do know, and have more information on, is that the floating orbs are his weapon of choice, and that also they seem to carry some sort of residual energy from that golden light.”

“I can see why that young Shimada might have folded under such power. Not even his little dragon could do much, faced with that.”

Akande was, despite himself, rather impressed. With how impossibly frail the omnic looked, he might have been fooled, but the light, the hands… even if it had been a mere glitch, or a mirage, or a hologram, the result was the same –the light had rendered a bomb useless, allowing Zenyatta to protect the civilians and his student with it. There was nothing _fake_ about that.

“And I can see why the Shambali would wish to protect such truth from being abused, were it to become widely known,” he added after a moment, amused when Sombra huffed. “It would make people more… curious about whether all Shambali could replicate such feat.”

“By what I’ve found out,” Sombra spoke, shrugging, as the video disappeared, replaced once again by the web of photos, “it is possible only certain members of the group are able to do it –only the ones with the title of Tekhartha.”

“So… that means Zenyatta is the only living omnic left with that kind of power.” Akande’s eyes, narrowed and dark, returned to the small, unassuming faceplate. “As the other one has been killed not that long ago.”

Sombra’s smirk returned. “I bet someone would be angry, if they knew.”

Akande blinked, comprehension dawning on him after a second, and his eyes narrowed in speculation.

He’d gotten suspicious of Sombra’s… ulterior motives for joining with Talon. She was a free spirit, and during their collaboration, she had appeared to be both skilled and secretive about the amount of information she could hack into, leaving him to believe she was withholding a lot of it from Talon –which doubled as security for her, allowing her a possible leeway if she ever displeased the leaders enough to end on their black book, but this…

This was as much an offering as it was a confession.

Her secure, smug attitude, her amusement, her snark… Akande could understand now what she was doing here herself.

It was probable there was another Talon operative would, indeed, make contact with Akande soon, to give him much less information than Sombra was, and it was probable that operative would not be as prompt to let Akande know all he needed to know.

As suspicious as he still was of her motives, he could understand why she’d decided to pick him, among the other leaders, to support. He was far more willing to allow her freedom, as long as in the end she met with his plans, while other leaders were less… permissive. He’d long since noticed that Sombra did not wish to be held on a leash, something the others had yet to learn.

As long as they saw eye-to-eye and she did not get bored, it would benefit him to have her loyal to him first and foremost, if he wanted to lead Talon down the right path.

“We will have to see… eventually,” he agreed with a curt nod, and she wiggled her fingers at him again, her smile a little more relaxed around the edges.

She understood his words, and that was it.

His eyes moved back to the omnic –Tekhartha Zenyatta. Not so pacifist, if the orbs around his neck were weapons, but definitely possessing something that no normal omnic, nor human, had.

Intriguing, far more so if he had to believe Sombra’s words about Shimada and his issues.

If a simple monk could have managed where medics such as Doctor Ziegler had failed, there was truly something there, and Akande, now reinstated in the Talon ranks, had all the time to explore the facets of every new, and old, member of Overwatch at his leisure.

Akande could use that.

After all, no matter how many the organization banded together against Talon, there was no chance for them to become a danger.

He could allow himself to indulge and learn whatever he fancied, and if he acted like this mattered more than other, more pressing matters, to throw some suspicion off his back… that was just an added bonus.

“Next,” he told Sombra, and she rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. _Slave driver_.”


End file.
